


A Wrench in My Nonexistent Plan

by kitcat234



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Hermione Granger, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Marriage Law AU, Minor Violence, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25217314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitcat234/pseuds/kitcat234
Summary: The War may be over but that doesn't mean the government got better magically. So when the Wizengamot decides to enforce a Marriage Law in order to "save the decimated wizarding population of Great Britain," it sends shockwaves through the Burrow's peaceful atmosphere. Hermione is miserable, trapped as a grunt in a job she hates; George is nearly unrecognizable and unapproachable, suffering from PTSD. What the hell is going to happen now that they have been matched together?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/George Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ron Weasley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	A Wrench in My Nonexistent Plan

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote and published the first draft of this story on ff.net almost 10 years ago. It was my first fanfic and still one I adore. But a writer does a lot of growing up in a decade, and my story needed to mature too. I decided to rewrite it and post it for the first time on AOC. There are some significant changes from the original, the main one being handling George's PTSD in a more authentic and nuanced way. Also, I decided to write Hermione as a Black woman, since it is a change to canon that I adore. 
> 
> If you are an OG FF.net reader, I would love your thoughts on the changes, and I send you so many hugs for sticking with me this many years later. If you are a new reader, I hope you can fall in love with this story like I have fallen back in love with it.

To many, at 19 years old, you have barely accomplished anything. You are finding your way in the world and discovering who you are and what you want to do with your life. At 19, your opinions don't matter as much as those who have "been around." In the grand scheme of things, you're in the background – the understudy to a minor character.  


This did not apply, in any sense, to the life of Hermione Granger. To anyone who knew her growing up, she was a bright and ambitious child. When she got her Hogwarts letter at 11, her family knew she was off to make them proud, even if they couldn't be a part of her other world. By her first year, she had helped her two best friends through a series of magical obstacles that were set for full-grown wizards. By fourth year, she had discovered Salazaar Slytherin's secret monster, had gone through time to save innocent lives, and was the driving force behind Harry Potter surviving the Triwizard Tournament. By seventh year, she had not only battled dark wizards and full-fledged Death Eaters many times, but she was one of the trio that led to the downfall of He Who Must Not Be Named, and led the wizarding world to a peace that had not been seen for many years.  


But now at nineteen, Hermione felt her life was at a standstill. Her life leading up to this point had been so dangerous and hectic, but at least there was always something happening, something to look out for. Now she was in a mundane job, terribly bored with her life, and on the brink of depression. What had happened? She knew the answer to that – all the danger had been removed, and in her struggle to find a new meaning to her life, she got lost.  


"Granger, remember, that report has to be in by five."  


She sighed and looked up at the man at her cubicle. Andrew Wright stood, in his black pinstripe cloak with his overly gelled hair, tapping his foot impatiently for the fourth time that day. He was short, at 5 foot 3, and made up for it by being as pompous and arrogant as possible.   


"Yes, I know, Andrew. I'm almost done. It's just terribly difficult to try to finish it when I'm constantly interrupted."  


"Who's interrupting you? Don't they understand how important this is? Tell them to bugger off."  


If only.  


"Thank you, Andrew, I'll get right on that."  


He left with an unneeded flourish of his cloak. Hermione rolled her eyes. This job was probably one of the most trying elements of Hermione's life. After all her work for Hagrid trying to get Buckbeak freed, and her constant efforts on S.P.E.W., Hermione thought working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was the place for her. Unfortunately, she should have paid a bit more attention to the name. "Regulation and Control" was certainly right. Her proposal for hippogriffs to be labeled as "Somewhat Dangerous Creatures" instead of their present "Highly Dangerous Creatures" status was simply tossed out, and her plea for house elf freedom and subsequent payment was laughed at. And when she sought cooperation from the magical creatures themselves, she quite often found herself being rebuffed and realizing that perhaps she hasn’t understood their situation as well as she had thought. Her dream of changing the world and making it a fairer and happier place for magical beasts and beings was being crushed in front of her daily, and she worried that perhaps her years of knitting hats and socks had been more problematic than her young self had understood.  


On top of the daily existential crisis, she was stuck as a low-ranking member of staff whose job it was to write memos and reports on things the higher-ups were too lazy to read on their own. Merlin, she hated this job. She wished she could just have a little excitement, something to toss up her mundane existence.  


She should have been more careful about what she wished for.

* * *

George was tired. Tired of having nightmares every night about his twin's death. Tired of wanting to break down every time he saw their shop, their apartment, their shared bedroom at the Burrow. Tired of people skirting him, not knowing whether to talk to him or leave him alone. Tired of people avoiding him because they didn't know how to treat him, now that he was only half of "The Weasley Twins." That's how it had always been. They were one entity from the beginning. He didn't think people even took a breath between "Fred and George." It was always _FredandGeorge_ \- one person, one cyclone of pranks and trouble. Now that it was just _George_ , people didn't know what to do. Hell, he didn’t even know what to do.  


It flashed before his eyes - _his brother lying there, cold as ice, still with a smile on his face._ He shuddered and dug his nails hard into his wrist, trying to pull himself out of it. _He had wanted to die, right then and there, just to be with his twin again._  


“Stop,” he whispered to himself. He dug his nails in and hissed in pain. He took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly through his nose.   


It was often a relief to feel pain like this. Ever since that night... He looked at the half-moons dug into his wrist, bright red and angry. Ever since that night, every thought was tinged with anger or pain, every positive emotion seemed to be wiped away. He dealt with the loss, the hurt, and the terror all on his own. No one knew about how much it hurt him every day, to wake up in their apartment over their store, and not see Fred's smiling face, ready to try their newest pranks on Ron or Percy. How he dreamt every night of Fred, falling from the impact of the explosion, with that ghost of a laugh on his face, their eyes connecting before they went glassy.   


From the outside looking in, George was a stoic. Nothing seemed to faze him, no emotion was ever shown. It was easier this way. He didn't want their pity. He just wanted his brother and his best friend back. He showed up for Sunday dinners at the Burrow, but only out of habit. Everything was a habit these days - getting ready in the morning, working all day, taking lunch at the same day every day, going to the Burrow and getting through the meal as quietly and quickly as possible.  


He didn't even enjoy work anymore. He had handed over Fred's half of the ownership of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to Lee Jordan, who took care of everything in the front of the house. George couldn't stand to go into the overly bright and cheerful showroom that housed all of their inventions. He preferred nowadays to stay in the dark inventing room or to do bills in the small office. He was inventing still, but it was a much less exuberant array of products. These ranged from further developments of protective accessories, for which the Ministry still had use, to the truly involved pranks that required complicated spellwork and months of work on one item at a time. These were merely just to pass the time, though. The constant working meant his life still had a shred of purpose and it kept him knowing which day was which.  


There was a part of his mind that still acted as though he could hear Fred. If it was his conscience, it wasn't a very good one. Talking to it never made him feel better. He often responded automatically, then would turn to talk to his brother and realize he wasn’t there.   


_You know, you are really terribly boring these days. Another shield cloak? Really?_  


“Shut up,” he muttered. He shook his head, as if to clear water from his ears, and went back

to focusing on the blueprints in front of him.  


_Georgie Boy, you should--_  


“Shut up!” he snarled, slamming his hands onto the table.   


But - of course - there was no one there to silence. He looked down at his wrists, the half-moons just starting to fade, and dropped dejectedly back into his chair. 

* * *

As Hermione sat at her desk a few days later, two owls flew in, dropping letters for her just as an interdepartmental memo zoomed onto her desk. The memo was from Andrew, pestering her for a report she had already turned in. She threw it into the trash can, which gulped it down and belched. The second letter was from Mrs. Weasley, asking her to come to dinner that Sunday.   


With a guilty pang, she checked her calendar. How long had it been since she had been to the Weasley Sunday dinners? As awful as this job was, it kept her busy. She had to flip back through several months to find the answer. Nearly six months. Had it really been so long? She had seen Harry or Ginny around in the elevators or for the occasional cup of tea at work. But seeing her second family? She couldn’t even remember the last time.  


She pulled out a stray piece of parchment, and wrote hurriedly,  


_Thank you so much for the invitation, Mrs. Weasley. I will be over at 5 o'clock on Sunday night.  
_

_Much love,  
Hermione  
_

She sent the letter off with Zephyrus, the owl that had replaced Errol when he had flown his last.  


She picked up the other letter, feeling the heft of expensive parchment. Turning it over, she saw the Ministry's seal on it. A momentary thrill of fear came over her. This was surely too elegant a letter to be her boss firing her, right? Surely that would come in a memo. Taking the sharp letter opener from her desk, she sliced at the wax and opened the letter.  


_Dear Hermione Jean Granger:  
_

_A new law has been agreed upon by the Wizengamot that will require all unmarried or unengaged men and women from the ages of eighteen to thirty to marry. The law states that the couple must get married within two months of receiving your match. The couple must have a child within the first two years of marriage. If these actions are not taken by the allotted time period, a ministry official will be sent to your place of residence to issue further and more serious warnings. This is in an effort to repopulate the dwindling magical population, after the severe damage of The War two years ago.  
_

_In the regard of time, the Ministry has done several tests in order to assign to you a companion that is your best match. We have attempted to narrow the selection of your future spouse to those you are familiar with (e.g. went to school with and/or are documented acquaintances with) and are of a similar age range to yourself.  
You will be receiving a letter in two days time with the name of your Ministry-chosen match.  
_

_Hoping you are well,  
_

_Lucinda Leatherby  
Department of Magical Law Enforcement  
_

Hermione's mind went blank in horror. Marriage? To someone who she might possibly know? Worst-case scenarios began in her head. _Justin Finch-Fletchley? Roger Davies? Cormac McLaggen? Blaise Zabini? Draco Malfoy?_ She shuddered. She would rather have Cormac over Malfoy any day. She glanced at the calendar. Two days was Sunday. She couldn’t help it; she snorted a humorless laugh. What a way to shake up dinner at the Burrow.  


That evening, as she packed up her work and headed to the lifts, she took in the young workers around her, all looking similarly shell-shocked and presumably cursing the ridiculously-named Lucinda Leatherby and the horrible Wizengamot for disrupting their lives.

* * *

George stared at the letter in his hand. How was this possible? How could Shacklebolt let this happen? As Minister of Magic and being far more capable than Fudge or Scrimgeour, George had never imagined something as ridiculous as government-arranged marriages would occur. Then his mind raced back to the letter. _Assign to you a companion that is your best match._ How would they know who his best match was if he didn’t know who he was anymore? He paced across the floor of their _...his apartment._ This was absolutely ridiculous. Could he refuse? Could he run away and move to some foreign country?  


"Yes," George thought aloud, "I'll run away and hide as a muggle.”  


“Dearie,” his mirror spoke in a grandmotherly voice, “You couldn't stop being a wizard. And your mother would kill you if you didn't show up for Sunday dinners.”  
Bollocks. He hated when inanimate objects had more logic than him. That reminded him. Dinner on Sunday. What day was it? He glanced around for a calendar, and it took some searching before he found it. And to his horror, he realized it was Sunday. Sunday evening, in fact.  


“Crap.”   


With a turn and a _crack!_ , he was gone.

George appeared at the end of the lane that wound its way down to the Burrow. Just as he started walking, he heard a _crack!_ behind him. He didn't bother turning around to see who it was. It wasn't who he wanted it to be. It never was. But he could hear running footsteps and someone out of breath trying to catch up to him.  


"Hi George."  


It was Hermione. She smiled at him, and it was only the momentary raise of his eyebrows that showed his surprise. She hadn't shown up in months. It might be nice to see someone that wasn't redheaded and didn't remind him of his twin. He nodded a greeting, and they walked on in silence.  


Somehow Hermione had always seemed different than anyone else he or his family was friends with. She had always been a bossy, frizzy-haired know-it-all through school, but she had lightened up considerably as she got older. His mind flashed back to his unfinished seventh year...  


⧫⧫⧫  


_Fred and George were planning a spectacular prank on the old toad, but they needed someone else to help them. Someone who wouldn't be suspected. They heard footsteps walking past the broom cupboard they were concealed in. Fred whipped open the door and pulled the unsuspecting student inside.  
_

_"WHAT IN THE–!" A hand was clamped over her mouth.  
_

_"Lumos." A small light brightened the small cupboard, showing a small figure clamped in Fred's grip with her mouth covered.  
_

_"Hermione?" echoed in the room. Fred let go of her, but maintained a hold on her mouth, knowing that some angry diatribe about following rules was bound to burst forth.  
_

_"Granger," George said quietly to her, "We need your help, but most of all we need you to be quiet. If Fred lets go, will you promise not to yell?"  
_

_A glare was shot his way, but then she nodded. Fred let her go.  
_

_"Merlin, Fred!" she whispered angrily, "Did you have to hold me that hard?"  
_

_"Oh, I know you were thrilled to be in my muscular arms," he smirked, "I knew you couldn't resist me."  
_

_As she stepped down hard on his foot, both Hermione and George struggled to resist laughing as Fred hopped in place in a silent scream.  
_

_"W-w-well," George tried to say as seriously as possible while trying to choke back laughter, "we need your help with a prank."  
_

_"George!" whispered Hermione harshly, "You know I’m a – "  
_

_"It's against The Toad."  
_

_"I'm in."  
_

_They had succeeded with one of their favorite pranks of the year. They had broken into Umbridge's office and had charmed her floor to maintain its solid appearance, all the while concealing a chute that dumped Umbridge into the lake if she tried to walk in. It had required much complicated charm and transfiguration work, but between the three of them, they had done it spectacularly. It was hard to restrain their laughter as Umbridge walked into the Great Hall, fuming and covered in weeds and mud, with suction marks all over her body.  
_

_"It-it looks like the Giant Squid made a new friend," Hermione said through stifled laughter.  
_

_"You know what, Granger? You're not such a goody two-shoes after all. You're alright," said George, smiling at her red cheeks and sparkling eyes.  
_

_"Thanks George. You're not so bad yourself."  
_

⧫⧫⧫  


Somehow she had always known how to tell them apart, and he had no idea how she did it. Even his family could never tell him and Fred apart. He smiled slightly to himself as he walked in companionable silence next to her.  


Hermione, unbeknownst to George, had seen his smile. She smiled to herself. The old George was still there, somewhere.  


⧫⧫⧫  


As soon as George and Hermione opened the gate to the Weasley garden, a red-headed figure zoomed out of the house and enveloped the two in a hug.  


"Hermione! And George, dear! You made it! Oh, I'm so glad!" Mrs. Weasley finally freed the two from her clutches and held Hermione out at arm's length. "Oh dear, it's been too long! And you've gotten so tiny! Has that horrid job of yours been starving you? Look at you, you look dead on your feet! We'll just need to fix that!"  


"Hi, Molly. How are you?" said Hermione.  


"Oh, I'm fine, dear, just fine." Mrs. Weasley looked around for where her middle child had gone, but he had used her momentary distraction to disappear. Mrs. Weasley sighed. "He's probably in the garden again. I just hope he'll say something tonight. Anything." Mrs. Weasley walked into the Burrow again, with Hermione following.  


When Hermione walked into the kitchen, she was immediately hailed by her three best friends, plus other Weasley family members. Ginny had thrown herself into Hermione's arm and promptly had hugged the breath out of her. She then put on her best Mrs. Weasley impression and scolded Hermione for being a recluse. Harry had to drag Ginny away to stop her ranting, and then had given Hermione a hug. She then traded hands to Ron, who hugged her and ruffled her hair, laughing at her batting his hand away. Mr. Weasley, Bill, Fleur, baby Victoire, and Charlie all smiled and said a quick hello to her before resuming their conversation.  


Hermione overheard Charlie saying angrily, "This marriage law is absolutely ridiculous! There are so many faults! What if happily dating someone and the Ministry broke it up? What if I was about to propose?"  


"Seeing as you're single, and have been for years, I don't think that's too much of a worry for you, mate," countered Bill.  


"That's not the point!" argued Charlie, "The point is that that could happen to someone! This is a violation of our rights!"  


Hermione jumped into the conversation so as to help avoid a Weasley row. Charlie's ears were already as red as his hair. "So when are we supposed to be getting the info on who we are supposed to be marrying?"  


"Tonight, around dinnertime, is what I've heard," said Mr. Weasley, taking off his glasses and polishing them in thought. "I'm just worried that the Wizengamot didn't think this law through too much."  


"Of course they didn’t! That's because they're all over the age limit, so they don't have to worry about it!" Charlie half-yelled.  


"DINNER!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, giving Charlie a stern look.  


⧫⧫⧫  


As the dishes were being cleared and dessert was being brought out, many people were preoccupied as the time for the letters drew near:  


⧫⧫⧫  


Ginny was terrified. How can they tear her and Harry apart? She had just got him back! They can’t do this to her! They just can't! If they don't match her with harry together, I'm going to go down to the Ministry and Bat Bogey Hex every single member of the Wizengamot. And the people who ran the tests. And the Law Enforcement Office. And Shacklebolt for good measure. How could Kingsley let this happen? This is awful. This is terrible...  


⧫⧫⧫  


Harry was sure he was going to be with Ginny. All he wanted is to have a normal life with the woman he loved. How could the Ministry and whatever tests they did fail to see that they were perfect for each other? Ginny was perfect.  


⧫⧫⧫  


Hermione was trying to keep herself as busy as possible by helping Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen. There was a part of her that wondered if they would pair her with Ron. A few years ago, the prospect would have thrilled her and she would have turned into a giggling schoolgirl at the thought of marrying her longtime crush. But she had grown up. She had realized that he was never going to make a move, and she was honestly glad he wouldn't. She had always hated fighting with him, and being married to him? The fighting would never stop.   


⧫⧫⧫  


Ron was the only single person present that was cool and collected, besides George, but no one counted on him for emotion these days. Ron was sure and confident about whom his match would be. Hadn't she been hinting for years that she liked him? Even through all of the arguments, fights, and screaming matches, hadn't she always been there? Hadn't she kissed him two years ago? Sure, he had never made a move, but it was because he wasn't as smooth as his brothers. And sure, he had barely talked to her in the past couple months, but they were both busy. What could you expect? 'Harry and Ginny have kept up with her,' a small voice in his head said. But Ron quickly disregarded this. He was much busier than they were. He knew he would be with her.   


⧫⧫⧫  


George was still and silent in the kitchen. Despite the outward appearance of a statue, on the inside, thoughts were rocketing around so quickly he was surprised his head hadn't burst. He had no idea who he would be paired with, and he was terribly uncomfortable with the idea of having to marry in general. That meant talking to the other person, being around another person, being intimate with another person. He wasn't sure he could do this. Two years ago, he would have strutted around, smirking from the knowledge that it would be his job to woo a girl he would be set up with, like a blind date. It would have been a lovely challenge on which he and Fred would make bets. But not anymore. Now, he was afraid he had gotten so involved about keeping his emotions inside that he wouldn't be able to ever express them again.  
__

_Oi! Forge! Stop feeling so sorry for yourself!  
_

His hand twitched on the table. He flexed it before balling it up. 'I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I'm–'  


_Overwhelmed? Having too many feelings? Man up, mate! This will be just like the old days! You get to bring out our signature moves!  
_

'I can't. I don't want to be with anyone. I want to be left the hell alone! Why can't everyone understand that?'   


His hand began to shake and he could feel himself beginning to sweat.   


_Not now, George. Not in front of everyone.  
_

He breathed harshly in and out through his nose, and worked on burning a hole through the table with his gaze.  


⧫⧫⧫  


Just as everyone was getting too anxious to stand it, six owls flew in the open window, dropped letters on the table, and flew out. Silence filled the small kitchen as everyone stared at the letters.  


"W-well, no need to draw this out any longer," said Mrs. Weasley in a falsely cheerful voice. "Everyone open your letters."  


Ginny lunged forward, snatched hers and Harry’s letters, and ripped at her envelope as Harry opened his with an expression of forced calm. A shriek shattered the silence. Ginny propelled herself into Harry's arms, sobbing.  


"What? What happened?" Mrs. Weasley cried.   


Mr. Weasley picked up Ginny's discarded letter. "They've been matched together. Ginny just worried herself too much."  


At such good news, three other letters were ripped open.  


"WHAT?"  


Everyone turned to look at Ron. Everyone, that is, except George, who was still staring at his letter.  


"How is this possible? No, no, this is not true! This is just not true!" Ron was bright red as he turned to Hermione and snatched the letter out of her hand. His mouth promptly fell open as he read the two words written on her paper. The room went silent as everyone looked at Ron.  


"You?" Ron cried in disbelief. “You?” Confused, the family looked in the direction he was glaring. George was showing emotion for the first time in months, his jaw slack and his eyes wide and questioning, the letter hanging loosely in his grip. Ron stalked across the room, snarling, “She was supposed to be mine! She's supposed to be with me!”  


Before anyone could process what was happening, the chair scraped against the wooden floor and fell with a crack as George flew up out of his chair. His hands wrapped around Ron’s collar and, despite their height difference, George pinned Ron against the wall with a strength no one realized he possessed. Ron’s toes barely touched the ground and his face had lost all color in sudden fear. George spoke, his voice rough and raspy from disuse, full of an unbidden rage.  


"How dare you act like she's a possession. She didn't choose this, and neither did I; the Ministry did. You never made a move, so how was the Ministry to know you wanted her? You're not good enough for her anyways. She's not a toy someone stole from you in daycare, Ron. She's a person – a person who you are not worthy even to look at if you talk about her like that."  


He let go of Ron, and let him drop to the ground. Ron did not move; he just stared at his brother with those blue Weasley eyes. George could see the marks in the shirt where it was stretched, the red marks of his knuckles against Ron’s pale skin. He could feel panic clawing at his throat now. George backed away quickly and turned to see everyone staring at him in shock, Hermione standing as if to break them apart. His eyes flicked away from her and onto his mother.  


"Thanks for dinner, Mum." And with that, he turned and stalked out of the Burrow.  


⧫⧫⧫  


Why had he snapped like that? Where had that even come from?  


He could hardly hear his own footsteps over the sound of blood rushing in his ears and his own ragged breathing. A part of his brain knew he could apparate, but it was like he couldn’t control his body; he just kept walking away from the house and towards...what?   


He knew everything he had said was true – Hermione was too good for Ron and always had been. She was simply too clever, too loyal, too good a friend for the likes of his little brother.  


_Every time you heard the other boys at Hogwarts talking about her crudely or cruelly, you defended her, didn't you, George?  
_

But to attack his brother like that? He had looked so scared, _just like--_  


Something touched his arm and he jumped from it, hand immediately going to his wand.  


“George! George! It’s just me!”   


It took a moment to get past the blind panic to realize it was Hermione. Her hands were outstretched in surrender and her face was pinched with worry, as though scared he might attack again. They stared at each other for a moment, both breathing roughly. She did not lower her hands or speak until his wand was back in his pocket.  


"I wanted to thank you for defending me back there. I was really hurt by what Ron said and I really appreciate it. I…errrr…yeah."  


"No problem," he grunted, trying to think of a way to leave quickly.  


"I hope you're not upset with me," she said quietly.  


George jerked his head around to look at her, shock once again registering on his face.  


"Why would I be mad at you?"  


She shook her head softly. "Upset. Because you got me." Hermione said quietly, sounding like she was trying to hold her voice steady.  


"Hermione,” he said, “you know this wasn't your fault. It was the Ministry.”   


He cleared his throat. He had done more talking this evening than he’d done in weeks, and his throat was unused to it. There was an awkward pause as Hermione’s hand moved as if to reach out to him, but she looked nervous and pulled it back to her side.  


"Well, thanks again, George. I know you're dying to get away, so I'll let you go, but thank you." She gave him an awkward little nod, then began walking back to the Burrow.  


As the adrenaline was leaving his body, his mind seemed to be working in slow motion. It took a moment to finally get out the words. She was probably out of earshot. But when he said, "Goodbye Hermione," she turned and gave him a soft smile before disappearing into the quickly-falling darkness.

* * *

Two weeks had gone by, and thankfully the drama had calmed down. He was not happy about his pairing with Luna Lovegood, but the rest of the family all secretly thought it was a brilliant decision. Nothing could faze that girl; she was spacey yet strong enough to not let Ron get away with his temper and often blunt-but-mean words. The night of the arrival of the letters, Mrs. Weasley had immediately started with wedding preparation, even though the couples had two months. Harry and Ginny's wedding was set for almost a month from the day of the letters arriving, which was also the night Harry pulled out a stunning diamond ring and proposed to Ginny in front of the whole family, as he had been planning to do for months. And Charlie had stopped ranting about the unfairness of the law as soon as he saw his chosen fiancé was Logan Wallace, a fiery and ambitious Scot who was the best handler of their team in Romania.  


It was another Sunday afternoon at the Burrow, and people were scattered everywhere. Mrs. Weasley was in the kitchen, preparing a sumptuous dinner that was sure to leave the family with bursting buttons. Mr. Weasley had disappeared to "feed the chickens," but everyone knew he was tinkering with his latest muggle discovery, the toaster oven. Ginny and Harry were missing, but this was not much of a surprise. Ron was off somewhere on his broom, sulking from hundreds of feet in the air. George was sitting on a rock on the edge of a small pond that was situated at the far corner of the garden, while Hermione looked on silently from the backdoor.  


⧫⧫⧫  


George was staring into the water at his reflection. No one could ever tell the twins apart until the night his right ear had been cursed off. This put a damper on their style, so they had grown their hair longer to hide their ears, hoping it would suffice to mix them up again. He glanced down again at his reflection and really looked this time. Maybe it was time to cut his hair shorter; that was how he preferred it. There was no need to keep it long anymore; they couldn't trick people any longer now that "they" had turned to "he."  


_Sure, mate, cut your hair. You'll still look like_ FredandGeorge _anyways. That's the beauty and curse of being twins. Unfortunately for you, I was always the better looking twin, so you'll still be shafted.  
_

As the voice in his head spoke, he looked down morosely at his reflection and froze in shock, his heart pounding. He had seen the reflection look back at him with laughing eyes, grinning. _Any moment now, that wall was going to--  
_

A hand rested softly on his shoulder and he started at the contact, nearly slipping into the water. The hand moved, gripping his upper arm quickly to prevent him falling. He steadied himself on the rock and looked into a pair of cinnamon eyes that were looking down at him with evident concern.   


_Concern, not pity.  
_

“I didn’t mean to make you slip. It’s just, you've been staring into the pond an awfully long time now. Are you alright?”  


A humorless smile twisted his lips. "Do you really expect me to answer that question?"   


"No," said Hermione, matter-of-factly, "I don't. It's somewhat rhetorical. I'm just trying to get you to talk, actually. Budge up." She bumped her hip into his arm, and he moved over. "You see him when you look in the water, don't you."   


It wasn't a question; it was as though she was getting confirmation on something she already knew as fact. He looked down at the water again, but it was full of ripples from his foot breaking the still surface.  


"Sometimes," he replied quietly. "Sometimes I… never mind."  


"What is it?" she asked. "You can tell me. You know I won't laugh at you."  


He sighed and looked at her. Her eyebrows were cocked in a challenging manner and her mouth was turned up ever so slightly at the corner. It was as though she was challenging him by keeping eye contact, not even blushing at his scrutiny.  


⧫⧫⧫  


She desperately wanted him to open up. She didn't know why he was only really talking to her. Maybe it was just because of the Marriage Law thing. _Maybe he actually feels comfortable around you._ Hermione pushed this overly hopeful thought away. She cared about him, and she wanted him to know. It had never been a brother/sister kind of feeling for her, nor had it been anything romantic. Seeing him go through everything that had happened to him two years ago had been hard for everyone, but she had realized that he had pushed everyone away because he was only treated with pity. She knew that if something as traumatic as losing her twin and best friend had happened to her, she wouldn’t want to be treated like a ticking bomb.  


He sighed and looked at her, almost examining her. She kept eye contact, and at the same time studied him. There was his overly long hair that was in desperate need of a cut, but she knew he kept it because of Fred. There were his freckles, which were so copious that he almost looked as though he was tanned. There were his blue eyes that were different from everyone else in his family, even Fred. All the men of the family had light blue eyes that bordered on blue-grey. Only Ginny had Molly’s warm brown eyes. Fred had had bright blue eyes that constantly sparkled with mirth, but George had stormy dark blue eyes with a ring around the inside that was the deepest green, and could only be noticed if someone was looking for it. Hermione didn't know when she had first taken such studious observations of the twins, but somehow, for as long as she could remember, she had been able to tell them apart simply on the color of their eyes.  


⧫⧫⧫  


George, finally looking away, said, "Sometimes… sometimes…I hear him in my head. Like a shit conscience. Like he’s still there, ribbing me." He looked up, expecting to see pity or derision in her eyes. He was surprised to see her smiling.  


"That makes perfect sense."  


He looked at her wonderingly.  


"I hate where my life has taken me," said Hermione. She looked him in the eyes unblinkingly, almost angrily. "I am in a worthless job that I hate. They lied to me. I wasn't hired because I'm the supposed 'brightest witch of our age.' I was hired because they knew how efficient I was. They told me I could help change the world, but I've been laughed out the door. I don’t know if I’ve helped anyone at all these last two years."  


“Wh--”  


"I hate that I've never been in a real relationship because it would 'interfere with my studies.' But now I don’t even like the job I studied for years for! I hate that I live in a neighborhood that I don't feel safe in. Most of all, I hate that I've let myself get this unhappy.” She wiped her tears away roughly with the back of her hand. “I hate that I don’t know how to stop being so unhappy."   


"Why did you tell me all that?" asked George hesitantly.  


"Because you needed to know that people out there are hurting too. You need to realize that people care about you and you need to let them in."  


George's mouth twisted into a half-smile, half-grimace. "That's easy to say, but –"  


"It's hard to do. Trust me, I understand. But I am putting myself out there. I've opened up about things I barely talk to myself about. Now it's your turn, George."   


She looked at him defiantly, as if daring him to argue. George looked down into the pond again. He looked at her reflection, which looked back.  


"I miss him so much," he whispered. "I hate myself for not dying instead. I can't stand to be at the store or the apartment because they remind me of him, but they’re empty, so I stay.” He paused, considering. “Nobody talks to me anymore. If they do, it's as if they're afraid I'm about to spontaneously combust or something. And I’m-, I’m scared of myself sometimes. It’s like I don’t know how to exist without him."   


His voice broke and he took a deep, shuddering breath, desperately trying to fight the rush of emotions and tears that threatened to overwhelm him. Suddenly, he felt arms around his shoulders. George drew in another shuddering breath, trying to hold back tears. She leaned her head against his and carded her fingers soothingly through his hair. It was too much for him. He broke down into sobs and Hermione held him.  


Neither of them knew how much time had passed, but eventually, George's racking sobs turned into shuddering deep breaths and silent tears.   


"Hermione," he whispered hoarsely.  


"Hmm?"  


"Thank you.”  


"I'm here for you, George."  


His arm wrapped around her shoulders and her arms remained wrapped around his waist until dinner was called some time later.  


⧫⧫⧫  


With Molly Weasley’s call echoing around the Burrow, the house and yard became abuzz with life as people started appearing out of their respective hiding spots and heading towards the kitchen. George lifted his arm from Hermione's shoulders, and smiled slightly as he felt her arms tighten around his chest in a quick final hug.  


"Here," she said, turning to him and performing a quick spell to make all traces of his crying disappear.  


"Thanks," George said quietly. She smiled softly at him and they walked back to the house.  


Dinner was a nearly silent affair. Everyone had something on their minds and besides the occasional, "Pass the carrots?" "Thanks," there was very little talk. Hermione kept shooting quick, surreptitious looks at George, not noticing that Mrs. Weasley was shooting the same worried looks at both her and George. When dinner was finished, the dishes cleaned and put away, people disappeared again. Just as Hermione was about to walk away, she heard Mrs. Weasley call her name softly. She turned and saw Mrs. Weasley gesturing from the doorway of the living room, asking her to come in. She sat down next to an anxious-looking Mrs. Weasley, the child in her wondering if she was in trouble.  


"Dear," Mrs. Weasley began, "I want to thank you."  


"For what, Molly?"   


"You know, it's been hard on all of us since Fred...since Fred," she said, choking up. "We know it has been especially hard on George; those two were always thick as thieves. But it's been hard on all of us as well."  


"Understandably, Molly. Especially for you and Arthur, losing a son. It would tear anybody apart," said Hermione, feeling compassion for this broken mother in front of her. Hermione could barely imagine the pain of losing her friends, but losing a son? It was unimaginably painful. She saw a nearby box of tissues and held them while Molly took a fistful to wipe her streaming eyes with.  


"We've all tried to get George back to the way he was, or even a shadow of his former self. I can't begin to tell you how much Arthur and I have done to help him. Charlie and Bill are constantly trying to get him flying again, and Percy even purposefully pranked himself, trying to get George to crack a smile.” She hiccuped a little, trying to catch her breath. “I want to thank you for talking to him today. I could see you out there; I could see him talking. I have no idea how you did it, but I think you got through to him.”  


“I think maybe I did,” Hermione replied softly.  


“I think you two make a good match. You're far enough out of the picture, yet close enough that you can connect to him without him feeling pressured by his family. I know you're strong enough to pull him out of this. I've tried my best,” Molly said, voice breaking, “but I'm just not strong enough anymore. What George doesn't realize is that we are all missing Fred just as much. He doesn't realize that by cutting himself away from the family, it feels like we've lost both of them. And that just kills me inside, knowing this isn't a scrape I can heal up and kiss better. I want to be strong for my children, but it's hard when he won't let anyone in. I feel like I've failed as a mother because I can't make him feel better."   


Mrs. Weasley broke down into tears and Hermione hugged her tightly, wishing she could fix everything for the woman who was like another mother to her.  


⧫⧫⧫  


George stood in the shadows of the hall, thinking about all he had just overheard. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He had been coming back from the bathroom and he had heard his name, so he concealed himself and listened. Old habits die hard. He didn't know what he had expected, but hearing his mother talk about how much pain the family was in really shook him. Guilt churned in his gut. He had not realized that his mother felt this way about his self-imposed isolation. He had realized, he supposed, that Fred's death affected the rest of his family, but it had never felt as real as his personal loss. They had cried together around Fred’s body in the castle, stood together at the funeral, but Fred’s loss was so crippling to his entire way of life that he hadn’t realized the impact it had one the others. He hadn’t heard his mother sob like this in years...since Fred. And this was because of him, because she thought she was a failure, and it hurt him to the core. He had never meant for her to feel anything remotely like that.   


He knew he had to fix what he had done to his family, but he just didn't know how.

* * *

Harry and Ginny's wedding was beautiful. Hermione thought it was even more beautiful than Fleur's wedding, and much less eventful, for which everyone was thankful. Ginny looked radiant in a bright white dress that was so skillfully embroidered that you could only see the beautiful flower design if you were inches from it. Her flaming hair was swept up into a beautiful updo that eventually fell as the night went on and the dancing increased. Harry, for once, was able to comb his hair into something that almost looked neat, and looked incredibly handsome in his black dress robes. Mr. Weasley positively beamed as he walked his daughter down the aisle and handed her off to the man he already thought of as his son. Mrs. Weasley cried all through the wedding, and completely lost it when the wizard from the Ministry of Magic had proclaimed them "man and wife." After that, a sumptuous dinner was enjoyed by all, after which much dancing occurred. The night was a blur, full of laughter, smiles, and celebrating, and too soon, Harry and Ginny were off for their two-week-long honeymoon.  


It was as she moved to the entrance to the tent, trying to cool off from all the dancing and laughing, that she saw his retreating back as he slipped away from the light of the tent and into the growing darkness. She considered going after him, but to say what? _Come on, fiancé , let’s take a turn around the dance floor?_ She shook her head and sighed, pulling up her hair and fanning her neck as she mused. Unlike Harry and Ginny, who had been in love for years, Hermione and George were still getting to know each other. Sure, she had known George for years, but that was them as teenagers in school together. And the pre-War and post-War Hermiones and Georges were hardly equatable anymore.   


She could not wait on George to take action, but the deadline was approaching and they had hardly spoken more than greetings since his confession to her at the pond. She thought over Charlie’s words from their dance earlier:   


“He’s all alone in that apartment every day. I know he’s cagey as hell, but maybe if you spend time there, he’ll start opening up?”  


⧫⧫⧫  


_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.  
_

George's eyes flew open as he was startled awake and promptly tripped on the sheets in his hurry to grab his wand and take a defensive stance. Trying to steady his breathing and ignore his cotton-mouth, he shouted, “Oi!”  


There was a distinct pause, then a faint female voice called, “George?” He relaxed. It was only Verity with a question about the shop.  


“Comin'," he hollered. He pulled on some pajama pants and shuffled to the front door, yawning and trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. He opened the door and automatically said, “Verity, you’re still my favorite co-worker. No need to wake me up at the crack of dawn to prove you're at work before me.”  


“Ummm…”  


He stopped rubbing his eyes and looked at the wide-eyed woman before him.   


“Hermione?”  


“Hello,” she said, her voice a little unsure.   


As his sleepy brain began to process her presence, he saw her eyes take him in and a blush spread across her dark cheeks. She coughed a little and quickly looked away. Confused, he looked around and noticed a few boxes around her. He gestured to them.  


“Whazzat?”  


Hermione was looking at the ceiling as she said in a voice of determined calm, "I decided it was time I moved in."  


Well. Now he was awake. “I’m sorry, you’re what?”  


“I--” She faltered as she made eye contact with him and bit her lip anxiously. “Can...can I come in? Explain over a cuppa?”  


Baffled, he waved her in. She waved her wand and her boxes floated gently up and into the apartment in front of her, landing by the pile of dumped wellies and trainers at the door.  


“Tea bags?” she asked as she headed straight into his kitchen as if she had been here before.   


“Err...left cupboard, middle shelf. Mugs next over.”  


He stood there, too thrown to do anything else, until she had filled the kettle and set it on the stove. Rather than tapping it with her wand, she clicked the gas and watched for the fire to start underneath. She turned to him, about to ask something perhaps, and once again blushed a little.   


“Do you want to…?” She gestured at his chest and averted her eyes.  


He looked down at his bare chest and low-slung pants. Ah. He nodded and walked quickly out of the room.  


When he had come back, dressed and quickly washed, she was seated on his sofa two mugs ready.   


“I didn’t know if you take milk or sugar.”  


He shrugged.   


“Yeah, me neither.”  


He sat across from her, tucking himself tightly into the squashy armchair, legs pulled up against his chest defensively. For a few moments, they didn’t speak.   


“George, we are running out of time.” After his confused look, she continued, “We have to get married soon.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment then said ruefully, “Wow, that’s a lot scarier said out loud than in my head.”  


He chuffed a laugh. She gave him a hopeful smile, her eyes lighting up as she surveyed him.   


“Charlie suggested we spend more time together where you’re most comfortable. And not surrounded by the entire family.”  


“Nosy git,” George muttered.  


“And I’m sure if we are supposed to, um--” She stuttered to a halt, suddenly looking very awkward.   


“Repopulate?” he said dryly before taking a sip of tea.  


Hermione’s hand jerked as she picked up her cup and she hissed as it sloshed over onto her hand. She waved her hand and the spilled tea disappeared.   


“Yes,” she said in a voice that was almost level. “That. I think we should be living together. And since you already live above your job, and my flat is horrifically tiny, I thought…”  


He looked above his mug at her, taking her in. The Hermione he had known at Hogwarts would have kicked the door down, declared her new rule over his home, and made herself comfortable immediately. Yet here she was across from his, nervously fiddling with her teaspoon, apologetically curling in on herself and burning a hole into his shoulder with her eyes.  


“Yeah. Okay.”  


Her eyes snapped to his, big and hopeful. “Alright?”  


He nodded.  


The next several days were spent moving Hermione into his flat. He offered his room to her, not wanting anyone but himself to be in Fred's room, which he hadn't gone into for two years. They removed all of his belongings and moved her into his room, along with some of her furniture, like her bed and dresser, which she had shrunk to increase portability. Soon, George's room was unrecognizable. Not only had it gone from dark blue to a sunny yellow, but it had been enlarged to fit a queen sized bed, dresser, and desk with a lot of room to spare. She had also created a large window with shutters, giving the room much-needed light, and leaving George cursing himself for never thinking of that. For now, George was sleeping in Fred's room, but had not moved any of his stuff into it. He left it in Hermione's old boxes. As George lay on the bed, he heard a voice speak up.  


_Mate, you're going to go a bit mad sitting silently in a dark room for a long time._  


"I am not going mad," he said aloud.  


_Well, first of all, you're talking to a voice in your head. Secondly, you're in my old room moping. I'd say you're well on your way._  


"I'm just trying to fool myself into thinking you're going to walk back into the room any minute."  


_Okay, definitely crazy now. Clean up the room at least. All you did is get the dust away, you lazy sod._  


"I'm not lazy. I just…can't right now."


End file.
